


A Bad Egg

by poisonousfrog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonousfrog/pseuds/poisonousfrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean remembers an unpleasant experience he had at the hands of a police officer</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Egg

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during the time when Sam was at Stanford. In the flashback scene, Dean was 18.
> 
> Inspired by this image: https://38.media.tumblr.com/aaebd635e64e72e82c7705280b0949a1/tumblr_nllltclUMh1tldwy2o9_250.gif  
> [Warning: graphic content!]

His phone vibrated in his pocket. John dropped the bloodied rag on the floor and wiped his hands on the dead guy's shirt. He fished his phone out.

“Dad?”

“Dean? Where are you?”

“Uh... Clarksville County Jail.”

“Shit”

“Yeah”

“They get anything on you?”

“No”

“They're just keeping you overnight then?”

“Yeah”

“Alright...” John huffed down the phone.

“Can you come and get me?”

“I've got a lot of clearing up to do. You're gonna have to ride this one out, kid. I'll pick you up in the morning.”

“No!” Dean's voice caught.

“...what?” John didn't like the sound of fear in his boy. “Everything ok there, Dean?”

“No. I mean, yeah. But... I need- Come and pick me up?”

John frowned. “Dean, it's only one night...”

“Just... just come.”

“Are you hurt?” John scrubbed his stubble and peered at the mess around him.

Dean leaned away from the officer and huddled into the phone. “Please, Dad?”

John nodded. Dean hadn't used any of their code words, but he didn't sound good. “Okay...” he said, reassuringly. “Okay. I'll be there in an hour.”

“Thanks,” Dean said.

John slipped his phone back into his pocket. His frown had returned. He rolled his eyes at the mess and stomped out of the old building to his truck.

Twenty minutes later John was back in the truck and leaving the smoking building behind in his rear-view mirror. He turned onto the road just as the roof caved in.

 

John slammed his door and pulled out of the parking lot. Dean took the amulet from the plastic bag and slipped it around his neck.

“So you and me are going to have to have a conversation,” John said heavily.

Dean clenched his jaw.

“Yeah,” he said.

John shot him a sideways glance. The boy didn't have any new bruises, nor did he appear particularly dishevelled or traumatised.

Dean gave it a try anyway; “It's prison, Dad... no-one likes prison. The food there's crappy...” his grin melted away at his father's cocked eyebrow.

Dean opened and shut his mouth a few times. He sighed.

“Look, Dad... it's alright. I- I'm fine,” he nodded at his father.

John didn't say anything.

Dean decided that he wasn't going to be the one to break the silence. He let out a short sigh and leaned his head back against the head rest, watching the road go by in his peripheral vision.

A short drive took them to the motel. It was a particularly grimy one.

John unlocked the door and gave the bottom edge a firm kick to open it. Dean trailed inside after him.

“Sit,” John said, pointing to the desk chair.

Dean sat.

“So what happened?” John asked.

“Dad-”

“Just tell me,” John interrupted.

“Dad... nothing, I swear,” Dean said, his eyes unwavering.

John took a good look at his boy. Dean was cool and collected in most situations and brave in every other situation.

“Ok,” John said slowly. “But you were pretty keen to get out of that jail.”

Dean bit his lip. “Nobody... I wasn't raped or anything,” Dean said. He glanced briefly at his father, before lowering his gaze to stare at his shoes.

John scowled and sat on the edge of the nearest bed. He leaned forwards to rest his head in his hands.

“Something happened in that jail back in... where was it? Maryland?” John said.

“Damascus,” Dean nodded.

“You were there for about twenty-four hours,” John remembered.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

John peered at his son.

Dean let out a deep sigh.

“There was a guard there... he...” Dean saw his Dad's horrified look. “He didn't hurt me,” he quickly clarified. “He didn't... really touch me. He just... watched...” Dean trailed off, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “It's not a big deal.”

John's face softened. “Dean...” he said slowly, almost wearily. Dean looked up. “...I expect you to put up with a lot. I put you in situations that you shouldn't have to deal with. And you deal with it like a man. You're strong and brave and I'm proud of you. But I don't expect you to be a robot. Some guy does... whatever... to you... I don't expect you to chalk it up to experience and move on. I want you to tell me, so that we can deal with it together. Why didn't you tell me?”

Dean looked distressed. He just shook his head, a lump forming in his throat.

John got up. “C'mere,” he said, pulling his son up by his arm. He pulled Dean into a hug.

Dean let himself sob gently.

 

After Dean got himself under control he sniffed and pulled away from John's embrace. John was watching him intently.

“So what _did_ he do?” John asked.

Dean sat down heavily into the desk chair. John rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief to toss to Dean. He resumed his place on the edge of the bed and waited for Dean to start talking.

 

…

 

Dean emptied his pockets at the desk, his possessions inspected and dropped into a plastic bag. 

“Don't lose that,” he said as he handed over his amulet.

He rolled his eyes as he was told to turn to the side for his photograph, and sneered as the guard let him into his cell for the night. 

“I want my phone call!” Dean yelled through the bars.

It turned out he couldn't remember his dad's new cell phone number.

It was around midnight when the officers at the jail changed shifts. 

“Shower time,” the new guard said, rattling his keys through the bars at Dean. The guard unlocked the door and Dean reluctantly allowed him to cuff his hand and lead him from the cell.

 

They entered the bathroom, a small room with a wooden bench and a narrow shower cubicle with no door. There was a single white towel folded on the bench.

“For my safety, you're going to have to undress, toss me your clothes and when you're done, dress in these,” the new guard held up a pair of orange pants and a white t-shirt. He dropped them onto the bench and reached to lock the cuffs.

He stood and raised his eyebrows, indicating Dean to hurry.

“Urg,” Dean grumbled. “What, you're just going to watch me?” 

“It's for my safety,” the guard reiterated. 

“Right,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows. He pulled off his t-shirt and threw it at the man's feet.

“Pants and underwear too,” the guard said.

Dean pulled down his pants and kicked them off. He paused before removing his underwear, uncomfortable. 

“Y'know usually it's about this time when I like to get properly acquainted,” Dean said, feeling far too aware of his penis. “I'm Dean.”

The guard pulled a baton from his belt. He slowly approached Dean. Dean felt his stomach flip and took a step back against the wall. The guard pushed his baton into Dean's chin and tilted his head up.

“I'm Officer Nelsons,” the guard said.

Dean swallowed hard. His sarcasm and cockiness and fled him completely. He was afraid.

“Don't touch me,” Dean said weakly, through gritted teeth.

Officer Nelsons released Dean's chin and stepped back, making a show of looking Dean up and down. Dean clenched his jaw to keep from shivering.

Nelsons twirled his finger, indicating Dean to do a spin. Dean complied.

When he faced Nelsons again he noticed the bulge in the man's pants.

“Hey man, what the hell?!” Dean said, holding his hands out to keep Nelsons away from him.

“Get in the shower,” Nelsons ordered.

“No way,” Dean said, trying to inch towards the bench with the prison clothes.

Nelsons moved too quickly for Dean to anticipate. He grabbed Dean by the throat, slamming him against the wall, and grabbed his cock and balls with the other hand, twisting hard. His face was an inch from Dean's.

Dean cried out, but the hand on his throat muffled the sound.

He screwed his face up in pain.

“I can make this an extremely unpleasant experience for you, Mr Winchester,” Nelsons said. He released his hold on Dean's neck.

“Okay!” Dean gasped, still wincing from the painful twisting of his genitalia. 

Nelsons gave them a final tug and released him.

“Get in the shower.” Nelsons ordered, savouring the sight of Dean's body.

Dean bit back tears of anger and humiliation and turned his back to Nelsons and stepped into the shower. There was just the one tap, so he twisted it until the warm water hit his face.

“Wash yourself,” Nelsons said, throwing a bar of soap onto the floor.

Hating himself, Dean bent down to pick it up, nearly head butting himself into the wall as something rubbed against his ass. He whipped around. Nelsons had his baton in hand again.

“Turn around,” Nelsons barked.

Dean obeyed, his face reddening. He clutched the soap and lathered up, trying desperately to ignore the baton slowly rubbing against his ass cheeks.

Dean washed quickly at first, but soon realised that he would only get out of there when Nelsons was satisfied. He absently rubbed soap over his arms and shoulders, clenching his teeth. The baton trailed down his back, stroked his thighs and travelled forwards in between his ass cheeks and nudging his balls. 

“Wash your ass,” Nelsons instructed.

Dean was thankful that the man couldn't see his face. He reluctantly moved his hands to his ass and washed his cheeks quickly. 

“Keep going,” Nelsons said.

Dean felt tears spill, getting lost in the shower spray.

He estimated they were there for nearly half an hour. The shower started to get colder and colder until eventually Nelsons moved away. 

“Shut that off and get dressed,” Nelsons said.

Dean turned around and hurriedly grabbed the towel. He wrapped his around his waist and pulled on his t-shirt, not bothering to dry off his torso. The t-shirt was difficult to get into and his wet body just made it transparent once it was on. It clung to him tightly and almost completely see-through. He persevered and pulled on the pants under the towel, before drying his face and hair.

Nelsons watched him, smirking the whole time. 

He re-cuffed Dean and took him back to the cell, slamming the door behind him.

Dean heard him grunting a few minutes later. 

 

He was released the next afternoon without seeing Nelsons again. All he wanted to do was hot wire a car and drive the hell away from that place, but he couldn't risk the police getting him again, plus he had to catch up with Dad and Sam. He used the last of his money to get the bus back into town and to the motel where they were staying.

 

…

 

“God damn it, Dean,” John said, standing up and kicking the wardrobe. “I didn't know.”

“It's ok, Dad,” Dean said, fighting tears that were threatening to spill again.

“No, it's not.” John snapped. “I'm your father, I'm supposed to protect you.”

Dean avoided eye contact.

John paced the room.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” Dean said weakly.

John stopped suddenly.

“Don't you ever say that again,” John said quietly. He turned to Dean and knelt in front of him. He took his son's hands in his own and look right into Dean's eyes. “ _I'm_ sorry, Dean.”

“Dad, it's not your fault-” Dean started.

“Shut up, Dean,” John said, not unkindly. “I'm sorry that it happened. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to protect you.”

Dean nodded.

“It's not like I was a kid...” Dean mumbled.

John put a hand on Dean's head and knocked their foreheads together.

“You're _my_ kid. No matter how old you get, no matter what happens,” John said.

Dean nodded again.

“Dean, I don't know what to say to make this better, but if you ever see that son-of-a-bitch again you point him out to me and I'll take care of him,” John said.

Dean gave a small chuckle.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said.

“Yeah,” John stood up. “Don't you ever doubt it, Dean. You and Sam – I'd do anything for you.”

“I know, Dad,” Dean said.

“Good,” John said, smiling at his son. “Don't ever forget it.”

 

Later when they were on the road to the next town in the middle of nowhere John broke the silence.

“You got a bad egg, Dean. Not all cops are like that. Most of them are just trying to do their jobs.”

Dean frowned. It dawned on him that he hadn't realised that before.

"Thanks Dad," he said.

 

 


End file.
